


Ghosts of Camelot

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Journeying the Realms [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Future Fic, Missing Scenes, Original Characters - Freeform, Sick Emma, jones family - Freeform, worried Killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: The Jones family is traveling around the realms. While visiting Camelot, Emma falls deathly ill. In her feverish delirium, she revisits memories of the first time she and Killian were in Camelot.
This is in the universe of The Last Battle. A couple of things might be a little confusing if you've never read it, but you can still enjoy this one-shot on its own. This is the first in a series called Journeying the Realms in which Killian and Emma take their children to revisit important sites from their love story. They will be in no particular order.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Natasha_Rhiannon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha_Rhiannon/gifts).



> * This is a gift for Natasha_Rhiannon, my biggest cheerleader while writing The Last Battle. You requested more stories in this universe, so here you go!  
> * I was planning on this being fluffy. I have no idea what happened! But there will be fluff in this series in the future - trust me!

              Five years of peace in Storybrooke had been shattered by the arrival of two villains on a pirate ship. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that it only took one villain to shatter the peace of a Jones family vacation. Traveling the realms had become so easy; too easy perhaps. Frequent visits to Narnia and Telmar to visit Henry, multiple trips to Arendale to see their friends, even their journey to Neverland with Tink had been uneventful – pleasant, actually. The worst thing Emma remembered was her disappointment at not being able to find the exact location of her and Killian’s first kiss so they could show the kids. And that was only because the jungle had become too bright and beautiful once freed from Pan’s rule. Hardly something to complain about.

              Their visit to Camelot had begun just as pleasantly. Queen Guinevere and King Lancelot had welcomed them with joy and thrown a ball in their honor. (Though Killian was embarrassed by this, reminding the queen with much shame that he was Merlin’s murderer who cursed them all to Storybrooke. The Queen had waved off his concerns, assuring him with a mysterious smile that Merlin knew more than he had let on.) It was little Elsa’s first ball, a fact which the entire castle was aware of long before the gates were flung wide. The enthusiasm of the six year old girl was enough to have even the most stoic of the knights doting on her. The queen assigned Elsa her own personal lady in waiting who dressed the child in a miniature replica of the white lace dress Emma had once worn. In Emma’s opinion, the crown of white flowers looked even prettier against Elsa’s raven waves. And if Killian spinning around the ballroom with their little girl in his arms wasn’t the most adorable sight in all the realms, well, she didn’t know what was.

              It was supposed to be a quick overnight trip, really. All they wanted to do was take a horseback ride out to the middlemist fields and have a family picnic. But Emma awoke the morning after the ball barely able to swallow without intense pain, her head pounding a fiery, staccato rhythm behind her eyes. Just as she was forcing her gritty eyes open, a familiar scream rent the air, and she was on her feet, Killian racing out the door ahead of her. The room spun before she could follow him, and Emma barely managed to grasp one of the bed posts to keep herself from crashing to the floor. Killian had to help her back into bed when he returned, worry creasing his brow. Their daughter was fine, for a Jones anyway. Elsa had awoken to find herself without magic – a leather cuff on her wrist that no one could remove. Better than being kidnapped by a witch or almost dying. At any rate, Emma was too sick to analyze it.

              At first, Emma assured everyone it was merely a cold. One day in bed, and she would be fine. But one day turned to two, and then three, and then four, and . . . well, eventually the days all blended together in a feverish haze anyway. Emma suddenly understood why people died of the simplest ailments here. All she wanted as she shivered under her pile of blankets was one tablet of ibuprofen. Killian would have taken her home to ibuprofen and Dr. Whale on day one, if the hat hadn’t gone missing. Because of _course_ it did. And of _course_ the leather cuff kept Elsa from opening a portal to send Emma through. On the second day, the Knights of the Round Table brought word to the castle that Morgan Le Fay was in Camelot, seeking to take the throne from Guinevere, because of _course_ she was.

              Meanwhile, Emma’s fever raged. She preferred the sweet oblivion of sleep over the shivering, sweating thrashing and misery. Killian was there often, placing cool wet cloths (that to be honest weren’t all that cool) onto her forehead. But other times it was Guinevere or a lady in waiting. When Emma was coherent enough, she worried. She could hear the sounds of battle, and once Killian’s image swam before her. He was strapping on a sword as he looked down on her with an agonizing expression. She knew he hated to leave her side, but she also knew he wasn’t the type of man to hang back as others rushed to battle. She tried to make her mouth form words, she tried to lift her hand, but she could do neither. _I love you. Come back to me._ But then she was slipping back into dark nothingness again.

              A sorceress or healer of some kind came to see her. She felt calloused hands on her brow and whispered words. _This isn’t magic. She’s ill._ That was all Emma understood, Killian’s strangled and worried voice causing her to fight the pull of unconsciousness. But it was useless to resist. She was ripped from a feverish sleep by a banshee-like scream, the moon shining outside her chamber window. A heavy silence followed, and Emma lay there, heart pounding in her chest. Just as she struggled to sit up, a cheer erupted. She sighed in relief, collapsing back against the bed. The battle must be over.

              When next Emma opened her eyes, she saw Killian striding across the room towards the desk by the window. She called to him, asking about the battle, but he didn’t seem to hear. Then she was startled to hear her own voice.

              “Could you hand me that feather? No, the blue one.”

              Emma sat up slowly and turned her head. The room had an ethereal glow, and the figures in the scene playing out before her were shadowy and filmy. She looked more closely at her husband: the slightness of a younger build, the perfectly black hair without the tiny hint of gray that had just begun at his temples, the smoother skin about the eyes that didn’t crinkle with quite so many crow’s feet. This was Killian Jones nine years ago, the first time they were in Camelot.

              This Emma was thinner, too, body not yet softened by the birth of two children in her mid-thirties. This Emma didn’t have smile lines around her lips from loving her pirate and laughing with their children. This Emma was burdened with the darkness. The exhaustion in her eyes wasn’t from comforting a teething toddler at 3 am. This Emma was being bled dry by an internal demon. Emma wanted to tell this Emma that she would win this fight. She wanted to tell her that her future – oh, your future Emma! – if only this Emma could know she didn’t have to be afraid. But Emma knew somehow that these were just ghosts conjured by her feverish mind.

              The younger Killian laid a comforting hand on his Emma’s shoulder. “I found these seashells for you. You said you wanted some.”

              Emma watched as her younger self took the shells with trembling hands, weaving the seashells into the dreamcatcher. She bit her lip as she recognized the dreamcatcher – it was Killian’s. The one Zelena would hold in front of him as she cackled with glee.

              “What are all these for?” asked Killian’s past self, gesturing to those already hanging in the window.

              “They hold memories . . .”

              The ghostly figures shimmered and faded. Emma sighed and felt herself falling amongst the bedclothes. A hand lifted her head, and something was put on her tongue. Was that a pill? Water was lifted to her lips, and Emma drank. _She needs to go home. . . She’s too sick . . . never survive the trip. . . send word . . ._ The voices faded as darkness enveloped Emma once again.

              When Emma opened her eyes again, Killian was in bed with her. But . . . that was odd. He was fully dressed and sitting atop the covers, a book in his hand. Emma blinked and saw it was the younger, shadowy version of him.

              “You don’t have to stay up with me you, know. Dark ones may not need sleep, but pirates do.”

              Her younger self spoke from the desk, still weaving a dreamcatcher as she looked over her shoulder at the man who refused to leave her side.

              “I won’t let you fight this alone, love. I’m here as long as you need me.”

              Her younger self chuckled – as much mirth as the darkness would allow, anyway. “At least take your boots off.”

              Younger Killian laughed too, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine. Really.”

              Younger Emma shrugged, shook her head, and returned to her dreamcatchers. Emma sighed against her pillow as she gazed at her pirate. How long had this fever kept him out of her bed? She tried to reach out and touch the ghost, but she couldn’t move her arm. She settled instead for gazing at his handsome face, watching as his eyelids fluttered closed and the hand holding his book slid to his lap. The book slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. The noise caused her younger self to startle and whirl around. Her face softened as she rose from her chair and approached the bed. She tenderly pushed the hair from his forehead as she gazed at his face.

              “He looks so young and carefree when he’s sleeping, doesn’t he?” Emma asked her younger self. “Just wait until you wake up in his arms. Your head against his chest, relishing the thud of his heart under your ear. Overwhelmed that you got a second chance.” She felt silly saying such things to a figment of her mind, but she couldn’t help herself.

              The Emma from the past bent over and pulled the boots gently off Killian’s feet. Slowly, she lifted his legs, resting them on the bed. Gently, she adjusted the pillows behind his head, caressing his cheek as he shifted and sighed in his sleep. Emma’s younger self studied the man she loved for a moment, biting her lower lip. Emma remembered her inner turmoil, not sure why in retrospect she had resisted crawling in bed next to him. She shook her head in frustration at the younger version of herself as she placed a chaste kiss to Killian’s cheek and went back to her dreamcatchers.

              The images shimmered out of focus again, and Emma was pulled from the room of ethereal light by cries that tore at her heart. _Mommy! Mommy! Shhhh . . . lad, Mommy is very sick . . ._ Emma tries to rouse herself, to no avail. Her little Liam! Her precious Momma’s boy! How long has he been without her hugs? Who has soothed his fears in the middle of the night? Can a two year old possibly understand?

              Liam’s cries are replaced by the trilling of songbirds. The light is so bright, she fears for a moment that she’s dead. But then Emma feels the soft brush of rose petals against her fingertips. Her eyes flutter open and focus on a face hovering over her, a tender smile and bright blue eyes. Then he’s kissing her, and it’s been so long. She may not be dead, but surely this is heaven. For the first time, she has taken her younger self’s place in the hallucination, and it all feels so real. Emma moans into the kiss, Killian’s name falling from her lips. The desire for him to take her right here – on her back, amidst this carpet of flowers – is just as overwhelming now as it was then. Past and present colliding.

              Killian pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against hers. “Not with the darkness in you, Emma. As much as I want you right now, I won’t do it.”

              Emma’s surprised when the words are not her past self’s, but her own. “But the darkness isn’t in me, Killian. This was nine years ago. We’re married now, but I’ve been sick.” She strokes Killian’s stubbled cheek and feels a tear course down her own. “It seems like an eternity. I want you to hold me again.”

              “Then wake up, love.”

              Emma furrows her brow in confusion as she searches her husband’s face. Not the face from nine years ago; the face with the extra crows feet, the face with softer and fuller cheeks that dimple more easily, the slight pepper of gray at his temples.

              “Emma? Emma, love, can you hear me?”

              “Mom? Mom, I’m here.”

              “Don’t worry, Henry, her fever broke last night.”

              Emma’s eyes flutter open. Sunshine is streaming through the chamber window, and both Killian and Henry smile down at her. They exchange relieved, ecstatic grins at the sight of her green eyes looking back at them. Killian strokes her brow.

              “How do you feel, love?”

              “Tired . . . so tired.” Emma manages to say, her voice rusty from disuse. She tries to stay with her men, but her eyes are heavy again.

              She hears another voice from behind Henry’s shoulder. “Your mother’s going to be fine, Henry. She just needs rest.” Jill. Emma’s eyes flutter open enough to see the pretty brunette lead Henry from the room.

              “Killian,” she manages to croak out.

              “Yes, my love?”

              “How long is the journey from Narnia to Camelot?”

              Killian gives her a tender smile and strokes the dimple in her chin. “Two weeks by sea with good weather and a fast ship. And _The Dawn Treader_ is the fastest ship in all the realms. Besides mine, of course.”

              Two weeks. Exactly how long had she been sick? Two weeks. And before that, a messenger would have had to be sent. Preparations for a sea voyage with the Crown Princess of Telmar and her fiancé would have been no easy feat, either. Killian watches her face intently as she processes all of this.

              “Emma, we weren’t sure . . .”

              He clears his throat, unable to finish, the emotion choking him. He doesn’t have to say it. They weren’t sure if she would make it.

              Emma sleeps for three more days. Now, when she awakens she is alert, though weak. She can take broth with assistance. Killian, Henry, and Jill take turns spooning the broth into her mouth. Jill is, of course, the chattiest one, filling Emma in on wedding preparations, princess training, and generally just gushing about Henry. On the third day, she begs Killian for a bath. A brass tub filled with steaming water is brought by the castle staff, and once they’re alone, Killian undresses her and lowers her into it. She sighs in relief, it feels so good. She still doesn’t have the strength to wash her own hair, so Killian has to do it for her. His hand trembles slightly and his adam’s apple bobs nervously, and Emma laughs for the first time in days – weeks, she supposes – at the desire she sees in his eyes.

              “You don’t have to be embarrassed for wanting me, pirate, I’m your wife.”

              Killian blinks in surprise at her words, an emotion she can’t quite place flitting across the deep oceans of his eyes. He carries her back to the bed tenderly and makes love to her hesitantly, as if she might break. But it’s what she wants; she missed him, even if the passage of time was fuzzy. Afterwards, the look in his eyes finally makes sense when he begins to weep as he holds her close. His mother. She should have known. Her illness reminded him of when he lost his mother.

              On the morning of the fourth day after her fever broke, Emma awakens feeling suffocated by all of the blankets. She kicks them all off, wrapping her and Killian’s naked bodies in a single sheet. She is in his arms, her cheek pressed to his chest, the thump of his heart in her ear a reminder – as it always is – of their second chance. She wriggles in his embrace, testing her body. It feels a bit stronger, and she desperately wants to get out of bed today. Her stomach growls. And real food. Real food would be good.

              Killian’s eyes flutter open and he mumbles a good morning. He runs his good hand through her hair and asks her how she feels.

              “I’m ready for our picnic in the middlemist field,” she answers, smiling up at him. She knows he won’t agree to it, knows he’ll say it’s too much too soon. She also knows he’s right. But that’s not why she says it.

              “We will my love, be patient,” he answers with a laugh. “The children are as eager as you are.”

              Emma shakes her head. “Not with the children. Well, eventually, but first I want to go there alone. With you.”

              “Why?”

              Emma smiles in that we way she knows makes him crazy. She shifts her body, her bare breasts sliding against his bare chest. She grins even wider at the sharp intake of his breath. When she speaks, her lips are hovering over his. “Because, Killian Jones, there’s something I wanted to do last time we were there. You said it wasn’t the right time.”

              “Are you referring to more enjoyable activities on your back?” Killian’s grin is broad as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

              “Mmhm,” Emma mumbles as she kisses him.

              “Well, someone’s feeling better,” Killian chuckles as he pulls back slightly. “What’s brought this on?”

              Emma runs her fingers through his hair then slides her hand down to caress his jawline. “You, Killian. Always you.”

 


End file.
